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The Ex–Wife’s Redemption: A Love Reborn
Chapter 85
The VIP room of the bar was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the soft blue glow of accent lighting, Henry lay sprawled across the nat far cry from his usual commanding presence.
His suit was crumpled, his previously immaculate hair disheveled. An empty bottle lay on its side on the glass table, alongside several more that Bada Cart been drained. Those ente piercing eyes now stared vacantly at the ceiling.
The door suddenly swung open. Benjamin stood in the entrance, surveying the pitiful scene before him with a mixture of concern and disbelief.
“My God,” Benjamin muttered, approaching his friend cautiously. “I’ve seen corpses that look better than you.”
Henry didn’t even acknowledge him, habitually bringing another glass to his lips, his hand trembling so badly from the alcohol that he could barely maintain his grip.
So who is it? Benjamin asked, dropping into the chair opposite. “Isabella or Sophia?”
The question hung in the air between them. Henry’s bloodshot eyes flickered at the mention of Sophia’s name–a tiny reaction, but enough for Benjamins to notice.
“Fuck off,” Henry finally slurred, reaching for the bottle again.
Benjamin watched him pour another generous measure of whiskey, alcohol splashing onto the table as Henry’s coordination failed him. In their many years of friendship, Benjamin had seen Henry like this only once before–when Isabella had left him five years ago.
“You look pathetic, Benjamin stated flatly. “The great Henry Harding, reduced to this over a woman.”
When Henry didn’t respond, merely bringing the glass to his lips again, something in Benjamin snapped. He lunged forward, knocking the glass from Henry’s
hand.
The glass shattered against the wall, liquid spraying everywhere.
“What the hell?” Henry growled, attempting to sit up but falling back into the couch instead.
“You’re going to drink yourself to death,” Benjamin said, signaling to the server hovering anxiously at the door. “Get rid of all this. Now,
Despite Henry’s slurred protests, the staff quickly cleared the remaining bottles. Once they were gone, Benjamin turned back to his friend.
“Your heart can’t handle this much alcohol,” he reminded Henry. “Of have you forgotten your doctor’s warnings again?”
Henry tried to stand, his face flushed with anger, but Benjamin easily pushed him back onto the couch.
“Let me make this clear, Benjamin said, his patience gradually disappearing. “You’re a mess. You’ve been controlled by alcohol. Now either tell me what’s going on, or I’m calling your grandfather.”
The mention of William seemed to break through Henry’s drunken haze.
‘Don’t,” he muttered.
“Then talk to me,” Benjamin pressed. ‘Is it Isabella or Sophia? Think clearly, and I’ll help you figure it out.”
At the mention of my name, Henry’s expression changed. A flash of light passed through his eyes before dimming again.
‘Sophia, Henry slurred, “she’s out of her mind.” He laughed humorlessly. “And the strange thing is, I think I like her better this way.”
Benjamin raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this unexpected confession. “So it’s Sophia then?”
‘She says she wants a divorce,” Henry continued. “She’s been saying it for weeks now. And this time she means it.”
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Chapter 85
“You could just sign the papers, Benjamin suggested. “There are plenty of women who’d love to be the next Mrs. Harding.
You don’t understand, Henry shook his head. “She’s different now. Stronger, more independent. She doesn’t need me anymore?
Benjamin leaned forward, a plan already forming in his mind. ‘What if I told you I could get her here? Right now?”
“Impossible,” Henry scoffed. “She’s blocked everyone associated with me. Everyone.”
‘Not everyone, Benjamin smiled, pulling out his phone. “I happen to have her friend Betty’s contact information.
As Benjamin whispered his plan, Henry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That won’t work. She’s too smart for that.”
“Just watch me,” Benjamin winked, already typing furiously on his phone.
Five minutes later, Benjamin’s social media status was updated with a disturbing image: Henry lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious, surrounded by broken glass. What appeared to be blood stained his hand and the floor beside him.
“Are you sure this will work?” Henry questioned the staged photo. “It looks pretty fake.”
“Trust me,” Benjamin replied confidently. “I captioned it: “The most damaging thing is emotion, but don’t hurt yourself. Goodnight, my old friend.
Henry stared at the image, skeptical. “What’s that red stuff supposed to be?”
“Just some red wine I spilled,” Benjamin shrugged. “It’ll look like blood in the photo.”
‘Should’ve used ink or something,” Henry muttered, falling back onto the couch.
Meanwhile, at Betty’s apartment, I was finally finishing up the dinner dishes.
Since my divorce conflict with Henry began, I’d been taking refuge at Betty’s place. I voluntarily took on household chores as a small way to repay her generosity.
The kitchen now spotless, I collapsed onto Betty’s plush sofa, physically and emotionally drained. The argument with Henry at the hospital left me feeling both liberated and terrified.
Was I really prepared to go through with the divorce? To raise Billy alone?
“Hey, check this out,” Betty called, rushing into the living room with her phone extended, a sheet mask still clinging to her face. “Isn’t that bastard Henry?”
reluctantly took the phone, my breath catching as I saw the image. Henry lay sprawled on what looked like a club floor, broken glass surrounding him.
What made my heart stop was the red staining his hand and pooling beside him.
“That fucking idiot,” Betty gasped, her wide eyes visible through the eye holes of her face mask. “Did he… cut himself? Is that blood?”
Betty read out the misleading caption: “The most damaging thing is emotion, but don’t hurt yourself. Goodnight, my old friend.”
I furrowed my brow, instantly suspicious.
After our confrontation at the hospital, would he really have done something so desperate?
‘I don’t know, Betty,” I said, my voice betraying more worry than I intended. “It might be…”
When I saw Henry in such a dejected state, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of concern for him
His heart couldn’t handle this kind of strain what was he doing drinking so much? Quickly, I suppressed the sympathy rising in my chest.
What did Henry’s condition have to do with me anyway?
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Chapter 85
Once he signed those divorce papers, we would have no connection whatsoever. Even if we met, we would be like strangers to each other.
What was there to feel sorry about?
Henry had Benjamin post pictures like this obviously to evoke sympathy from Isabella–it had nothing to do with me.
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